I am the proud owner of a Dyson vacuum cleaner. And while I can now tell you that it truly sucks – and in the way that a thing can suck and still have that be a good thing (and yes, you are free to run with that – I’m feeling generous today) – I must admit that the primary reason I bought the Dyson was because the man in the commercial had a British accent.
And in that way, I find that I am typically American.
What is it about the British accent? A person with a British accent could be claiming that three minus two is still two and I’d be inclined to nod, smile, and picture him talking dirty.
Oh, clearly, I need to get more sleep.
Americans have a fascination with accents, I think. A nation of immigrants, we are at once suspicious of those not “like” us and enamored of the construction of their sentences, the thought processes, the thought that perhaps they actually speak more than one language, the thought that they know something that we don’t.
Or is that just me?
What do you want?! We’re a fairly isolated country, bordered by Canadians (who speak either English or French) and Mexicans (who speak either English or a derivative of Spanish). If you were born in America, particularly as a third-generation participant and beyond, you speak English (and only English) and just enough French or Spanish to make it clear that yes, you’d like a beer and where is the bathroom?
Personally, I can also ask for the beach, a towel, and another beer.
OK. That’s a lie. I cannot remember the French word for “towel”.
Where was I going with all this?
Oh, yes.
Accent-related gullibility. As the LOLcats would say: I has it.
And now? I’m tired. Go ahead, accented peoples. Tell me something.
I’ll be over here, on the couch, possibly watching programming I won’t admit to later.